


Cats

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Fingon's nocturnal tendencies cause Glorfindel to stay up and spend some time chatting with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 26, 2015 - possibly the first 'private reserve' item that was shared. Originally posted to tumblr with the following notes:
> 
> I did a thing. 
> 
> Actually, I almost did a different thing, which would have been Fingon & Maedhros. But with how complicated my muses can get, that just got hidden in a file I may never open again. Instead, something from the private reserve of the bunniverse… translated, a completely self-indulgent and unedited bit of writing that occurs so late in the bunniverse there isn’t any accessible connecting material. So here’s Fingon and Glorfindel having a conversation about birds and cats and tattoos. That is all.

It was far later than Fingon had promised to go to bed, but Glorfindel was also still up, so it seemed far less of an issue when he had a partner in crime. Glorfindel, of course, had nowhere in particular to be in the morning, while Fingon would be expected to stroll into the library promptly when it opened to the public in the morning.

Then again, it would not be long before Faelion or even Erestor realized he had not turned in and come to retrieve him. As he sat up and set his book aside, Fingon caught movement nearby and watched Glorfindel look up from the painting he was working on. “I think I might get a tattoo.” 

The comment seemed to catch them both off-guard. For Fingon, it was infrequent that he really shared his thoughts – of course, he communicated with the others, and did so honestly, but there was a distinct difference between agreeing to biscuits and jam for breakfast and blurting out something that he had mentally toyed with for months without disclosing to anyone. Glorfindel’s reaction was to lower his paintbrush and offer a curious, “Oh?”

Fingon bowed his head and rubbed his face while making a froggish sort of groan. “I guess no one does that anymore. Here. Whatever,” he said as he searched for his bookmark, only to find he had already marked his page with it. 

Glorfindel watched Fingon fuss with the items on the table beside him and nearly stand before he said, “Erestor has tattoos.”

Slowly, Fingon lowered himself back down into the chair. “Tell me more.”

“Well, you know, they only last a few hundred years sometimes. He does have one around his ankle that is more permanent. Kind of a wreath of gold flowers,” Glorfindel answered fondly. “The others sort of vary by his mood. Lots of birds. Did he ever tell you the bird thing?”

“Not sure,” admitted Fingon.

“Right, so… if he could, he would want to be able to fly.”

Fingon tensed for a moment as the sudden recall of his in-flight adventure plagued his mind. “Has he ever done it before?”

“Just once, I think. Over Gondolin.“ Glorfindel swirled his brush in a bowl of water. “On an eagle.”

“Sure. Eagles are…” Fingon sighed. “He ever just, you know, try it as a bird?”

The expression on Glorfindel’s face clearly contained some amount of concern that Fingon was overly tired. “Doubtful. On account of him not being a bird.”

“Right, right, I know.” Fingon stretched his legs out and felt a yawn teasing him. “I meant, you know, how we can turn into stuff sometimes. He ever try that?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Unless you know something I do not know, I do not foresee him taking the form of a bird any time soon.”

“He could probably do it,” Fingon said decidedly. “He should talk to Felagund. He knew how to do some crazy shit.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “I will let him know.”

“No, but, really,” said Fingon as he rubbed his eyes. He was far more tired than he had originally thought, but was determined to make his case. “This one time, we went hunting with Turgon and Aegnor, and we heard Celegorm and Curufin approaching us. None of us wanted to deal with them, so Felagund, like, did something, and we were all cats.”

“Interesting.”

“And this other time- so, we had this cave where we would go to hide from our parents- and a bear came and I think they wanted the cave, but Felagund got this idea and made us into a pack of mountain lions and the bear left.”

“What I am taking away from this is that Finrod knows how to make people appear as cats.”

“Not just cats,” argued Fingon.

“Oh? What else?” asked Glorfindel.

“Stuff.” The yawn caught up to him, and Fingon stretched his arms and then shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I am certain there were things other than cats. I just really remember the cats well because being a cat was fun.”

Glorfindel started to clean up his paints for the evening. “Is that why you like cats so much?”

“Maybe,” drawled Fingon slightly narrowed eyes.

“Can I call you Tevildo, then?”

“Wha—no.” Fingon frowned. “Maybe just have Erestor talk to Felagund. If he still wants to fly. It could be fun.” This time, Fingon committed himself to standing up so that he could turn in for the night.

“You could get a cat,” suggested Glorfindel.

“I already have several in the barn. I think Erestor might turn me out at night if I bring another cat home,” said Fingon. He passed by and set a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Good night,” he said as he leaned down and gave Glorfindel a peck on the cheek.

Glorfindel returned the affection with a little nuzzle. “I meant your future tattoo, if you get one. You could get a cat.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Fingon squeezed Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Right now.” Glorfindel set the brush on a scrap of cloth to dry before he took off his spectacles and stood up. “I will neither confirm nor deny that a certain healer asked me to stay up and make sure you got some sleep, only after a certain librarian asked I do the same. Although, honestly, I would have done it even if I had not been asked.”

A small part of Fingon wanted to be rebellious and stay up in spite of all of them, but the thought of the cozy nest of blankets and cushions that was waiting up the stairs where someone was bound to offer a cuddle and where he would wake up safely nestled beside someone in the morning won over falling asleep in the chair only to develop a cramp in his neck. “Am I that bad?”

“Yes, but we love you anyway,” responded Glorfindel, confidently speaking for all three.


End file.
